Last Kiss
by Athena2693
Summary: A songfic, what about the people in the other car? slash KyleChristophe


Title: Last Kiss Rating: R, I guess, for a little bloodshed and description Summery: Songfic around Pearl Jam's song, what about the other car in that accident?  
  
It was a crisp, December night. The newly fallen snow upon the ground had already been swept from the roads and Kyle, satiated from two orgasms and a cup of hot chocolate, dozed on Christophe's shoulder.  
It had been their ten-year anniversary. Well, ten years since they first met each other, they hadn't even realized the concept of dating for several more years. At eighteen and nineteen, the boys had been together for four years, intensely devoted to each other, and still madly in love.  
For their ten-year anniversary, Christophe had set up a rendezvous for them up, even more into the mountains than they were, at a cozy little ski lodge. Last time they had went to a ski lodge two years back was for Kyle's 16th birthday, he having no idea that Kyle couldn't ski. All right, he could, but face it, that French fry technique just did not work. They're spent three straight (okay, incredibly queer) days between warm, soft sheets. Christophe had forced giggles and moans and sighs and a hell of a lot of bodily liquid from the tender young boy. Just the sight of skis made Kyle hard now.  
Christophe reached up a hand to brush some of Kyle's hair from his face, still concentrating on the road, then reached down to wipe boy-drool on his pants.  
"Hmm." Kyle grunted, somewhere in a state between sleep and consciousness.  
"Shh, go back to sleep."  
"Where are we?"  
"We have another hour to go, now sleep."  
"I want to stay up," Kyle protested sleepily, gazing at the snow falling upon the windshield with heavily lidded eyes.  
"You had a full weekend."  
"So did you. Besides, who knows when I'll be alone with you again this long?"  
"Next weekend, love. It's our official four-year anniversary, remember? We have tickets for Placebo."  
"Mmm, you forgot the airplane tickets, and the hotel in England. I'm so excited." Kyle was sitting upright now, looking like he was about to bounce right out the window. "I wanna be just like Molko, and dress in that shirt of his I bought off e-bay, and make myself up with eyeliner and glitter. Oh, and I have to give him this, of course," Kyle fingered the tiny silver necklace clasped around his neck, which he had made in a class at a local university. He was so proud of it. Each tiny crystal bead together made out the words "Nancy Boy".  
"Yes, yes, I know that."  
"Are we very far away from the other houses?"  
"Quite a bit away, yes."  
"Wanna pull over?"  
Christophe looked up at Kyle from beneath his eyelashes, a smile gracing his lips almost as cynical as the famous grin from Kubrick's Clockwork Orange.  
"Kyle, you gratuitous slut."  
"That's me," he was oddly cheerful about it.  
"Let's do it," Christophe pulled the car to the side of the road, unbuckles his seatbelt, and spit his gum out the window (he had finally given up smoking after Kyle's frequent complaints about getting smoke in his hair).  
Kyle giggles, entwining arms around Christophe's neck playfully; he kissed him sloppily on the mouth, puppy kisses that would easily soak his face. Christophe caught him by the shoulders and pushed him back, then kisses him slowly and romantically. Kyle was a melted pile of goo in his arms.  
Christophe stepped out of the car, opening the back doors to climb in. Kyle, scrawny little rodent he was, just squirmed over the seats, landing flat in Christophe's lap, which was fine for both of them. Kisses were exchanged, zippers undone, hurried whispers of devotion and love spoken. As used as he was, Kyle still gasped, lips parting in a silent squeak, when Christophe claimed him. The snow fell outside, but inside, their bodies shined with sweat and the windows began to fog.  
  
Well, where oh where can my baby be?  
  
The Lord took her away from me.  
  
She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good,  
  
so I can see my baby when I leave this world.  
  
"So what are we doing tonight," Cindy asked, happily taking Adam's hand in her own.  
"We're meeting up with the guys, we're going bowling tonight," Adam smiled at her and squeezed her hand back.  
  
We were out on a date in my daddy's car.  
  
We hadn't driven very far.  
  
The two had been dating for about seven months now, but both being from strict Catholic families, had not shown that love physically, though Adam knew he'd soon ask her to marry him. He couldn't imagine spending his life without her; she completed him so fully, so completely.  
"Oh, that sounds fun. Is Shirley coming? I haven't seen her in awhile."  
"Yeah, she's going with Matt now."  
"That's cute, they make a cute couple."  
"They do," Adam agreed softly.  
He slowed down as they turned a corner on the road, the windshield wipers switching back and forth. He quickly sped up again, seeing straight, clear road ahead of them.  
"Did your father like the hat I got him?"  
"Oh, yes, he loved it. You know my father, he loves the Broncos."  
"I thought he would. When I saw it there, I was just like 'Cindy's father would love this.'"  
"You know my family too well. What about that whole rebel boyfriend thing for the teenage daughters?"  
"Rebels are just the misfits of society, sweetheart."  
"I was just poking, honey."  
"You can turn on the radio if you want."  
"Oh, that's why it seems too silent in here," Cindy leaned forward, playing with the little knobs, having trouble using the channel switcher. After a moment, Adam reached forward to help her.  
"Oh, oh, stay here," she cried so loudly, he almost jumped. Daniel Beddingfield's lovely voice drifted through the speakers. He sat back, focused on the road, and saw the car that appeared to be stalled on the side of the road, about two feet away from his bumper. He tried to turn, but it was too late.  
  
There in the road, straight ahead ...  
  
The car was stalled, the engine was dead.  
  
I couldn't stop, so I swerved to the right.  
  
Never forget the sound that night ...  
  
The cryin' tires, the bustin' glass.  
  
The painful scream that I heard last.  
  
The two survivors of the accident sat silently beside each other. Christophe was dressed; the two had been finished for several moments, and were lying against each other, talking about fond memories, when the sudden pulse came from behind.  
Adam was a frightened, young-looking boy, a sophomore in high school. He had the look of a baby that had just been slapped on his face.  
  
Well, where oh where can my baby be?  
  
The Lord took her away from me.  
  
She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good,  
  
so I can see my baby when I leave this world.  
  
Across the road, the two bodies were being loaded into the ambulance, though they were quite obviously dead. Cindy had been bludgeoned by shards of metal, cutting right through her heart and down through her stomach. Kyle.  
Christophe swallowed, turned his head, wiped the tears from his eyes before they could show. It was so fucking cold out here, why couldn't they just freeze so nobody had to see him acting like the fag he was?  
Kyle hadn't even had the moment to say goodbye. Cindy had died quickly, but not instantaneously. One moment, Christophe had been cradling Kyle's head in his hands, smothering him in tiny little kisses. The next moment, Kyle's body fell back, and Christophe realized, though the beautiful little body was half sprawled out the window, he still held his head in his hands. The hit had sent him forward and Kyle backwards and the metal had sliced through Kyle's throat like a razor through cheese. He didn't remember how the bruise on his forehead had been formed, or where the gash across his chest came from. He had screamed, dropped Kyle's lost appendage, and had lost his breath in his throat. Kyle, he had dropped Kyle. It was still his Kyle, even if it was separated. He quickly picked it off of the floor, set it beside him on the seat, and just blacked out. They had found him sitting in the backseat, surrounded by crushes metal, unable to get out. He had a concussion; it was a miracle he hadn't died when he had passed out.  
  
Well, when I woke up, the rain was pourin' down.  
  
There were people standing all around.  
  
Something warm running in my eyes,  
  
but I found my baby somehow that night.  
  
"Young sir," one of the medical people kneeled before Adam, not even looking towards Christophe. "I'm sorry sir, she's gone. I know this must be hard. Your parents are on their way."  
"Cindy," the boy sobbed into his hands, "My Cindy, we were to get married. We had a future; we were going to have children. This can't be true."  
  
I raised her head, and when she smiled, and said,  
  
"Hold me darling for a little while."  
  
I held her close. I kissed her our last kiss.  
  
I found the love that I knew I would miss.  
  
But now she's gone, even though I hold her tight.  
  
I lost my love ... my life, that night.  
  
"I'm sorry sir."  
"What, what about." Christophe fell silent.  
"Your friend's gone also, sir. Neither survived."  
"Cindy," Adam was still crying out her name, "Cindy, Cindy." People looked on sympathetically. Many came to hug him, and kiss him, trying to bring some comfort.  
  
Well, where oh where can my baby be?  
  
The Lord took her away from me.  
  
When Christophe's tears glistened on the silver necklace he held in his hands, nobody said a word.  
  
She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good,  
  
so I can see my baby when I leave this world.  
  
"Thank you for coming, and thank the club by buying six or seven beers," Brian Molko's nasal voice was lightly tinged with humor and cynicism at the same time. Christophe remembered that voice. How it had echoed off the almost empty walls of the funeral parlor. Few had come to the funeral of the red-haired boy.  
It was small, insignificant, with a Jewish rabbi heading over it. Christophe had looked upon the bland walls and cheap coffin with contempt. He and Kyle were bonded to each other, spiritually, legally if they had been able to. He had no control over Kyle's body. He was not kin. You could see the stitches on his neck. Couldn't his parents afford somebody who made him at least look natural? They had asked him which song Kyle would like played at his funeral, and Christophe had picked out Without You I'm Nothing by these British men Kyle had so loved.  
"Did you want an autograph," Brian asked Christophe a bit impatiently, knowing he had about 400 more pictures to sign before the night was over.  
"Oh, um, sure, I guess. I just came to give you this," he set in Brian's calloused hand a silver trinket. Brian gave him his autograph, thanked him for coming, and asked the next person in line her name.  
Ten minutes later, as he headed backstage to get a drink, he looked at the little silver necklace in his hand, read the tiny, silver words upon the beads, and felt a tiny pinch of regret about the song with the same name. The song had so ruined their reputation. He tossed the necklace in the trashcan. 


End file.
